Too Little, Too Late

Sam patted his hand. "We knew you'd be okay," she murmured before disappearing.

Daniel frowned. He'd been on a ship that was now stardust and sparks, in the midst of the enemy, surrounded by fire with a Prior breathing down his neck, and they still hadn't --?

He realised, with a sick swell of self-pity, that when he died, there'd be no tears shed. Too many miracles, too many comebacks.

He'd die, and the worms that ate him would be cracked husks before they finally, one morning, woke to accept his death,

And by then it'd not be worth crying over.

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